Every Other Sunday
by mellowship
Summary: Blair and Chuck as divorced parents with an unbreakable & undeniable bond. "'We've been to hell and back together. We have a son together. How could I not miss you' 'Then why are we apart, Blair? Why are we denying the inevitable'" CHAPTER FIXED!
1. Prologue

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: All I own is this nifty little plot and a kitten who has taken to biting my toes.

**xoxo**

_**Prologue**_

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

Blair Waldorf sat at her kitchen table, eyeing the coffee maker as the final droplets of Starbuck's original blend poured into the white mug. Setting down the current issue of _Vanity Fair_, Blair pushed her chair out and got to her feet, retrieving the steaming hot beverage. The coffee was less than stellar without the touch of her ever-faithful maid Dorota, who was currently on maternity leave with her second child.

Blair sipped the liquid gingerly, wincing as it scalded her tongue, before setting her mug down on the counter and turning to the refrigerator. She pulled out a plump ruby grapefruit and retrieved a knife from one of the mahogany drawers, setting to the task of slicing the fruit.

The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board put Blair in a pseudo-trance, and mechanically she repeated the motion until the grapefruit was nicely sliced. Blair put the fruit on clean white china and sprinkled the slightest pinch of Splenda over it before carrying it back to her spot at the kitchen table.

At twenty-seven years old, Blair hadn't expected her life to turn out like this, so lonely and routine. She was single, once-divorced, and her endeavor towards becoming a lawyer had been cut short by her mother's sudden diagnosis of stage four cervical cancer. Now, Blair was being groomed to take over as C.E.O. of Eleanor Waldorf Designs, and while her clothing sketches were just as elegant and fashionable as her mother's, Blair's heart was just not in it. In Blair's eyes, however, carrying on the legacy of her dying mother was far more important than carrying out her own dreams.

Despite all of the detours in her life, Blair did have one thing that kept her from going insane – a six-year-old ray of light named Nicholas Damon Bartholomew Bass.

Biting into a grapefruit segment, Blair savored the tangy flavor, and waited for that familiar knock on the door like she did every other Sunday morning.

**xoxo**

_AN: So what did you guys think? I know the parent storyline can get old but as I've never really read any of the fics with Chuck and Blair having kids, I decided to do my own spin on it. Let me know if this is worth continuing or not!_


	2. Chapter 1

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: The story's mine and so is this raging case of insomnia but that's about it!

**xoxo**

Two magazines, one cup of coffee, and half a grapefruit later, a heavy hand pounded at the door of Blair's penthouse, the penthouse above Eleanor's that Blair bought when the former had gotten sick. Whether it was because of the caffeine or the prospect of seeing Nicholas, Blair immediately perked up and jumped to her feet, starting towards the door.

Briefly, Blair checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. It was an instinct of Blair's to look her best, especially in front of the man with whom she once fell in love. Though she was still wearing her silk pajama set, Blair felt presentable with a long pink and white robe covering her peach-soft skin. Blair bent forward and flipped her hair back for natural volume just before opening the door, and fixed a smile on her face as she did so.

A little boy with wide blue eyes and curly dark locks parted to the side stood in front of her, and Blair could hardly contain her smile as she crouched down and scooped up Nicholas in her arms.

"Hi, my baby!" Blair cooed happily as she hugged her son.

"Hi, mom!" Nicholas replied. "Hey, look what Dad bought me! Now I can talk to him every day!" He waved a cell phone eagerly in Blair's face.

Blair opened her mouth, surprised. She shot a withering glance towards a waiting Chuck before turning her attention back to Nicholas. "I'm sorry, honey, but you're _way_ too young for a cell phone," Blair said, holding her hand out expectantly. "Let me have that please."

"No! Dad said I could have it and I'm not giving it back!" Nicholas shrieked, wiggling out of Blair's embrace.

Chuck's deep voice cut in. "Nicholas, do _not_ speak to your mother that way. Give her the phone. Now."

Immediately, the boy's voice became hushed and he jammed the phone into Blair's outstretched hand. As he stomped his little Lacoste-clad feet all the way to his bedroom, Nicholas shouted, "You're mean, mom!"

Blair got to her feet and threw her hands on her hips, a scowl drawn across her face. "A cell phone, Chuck? _Really_? He's_ six_-years-old, not sixteen! What's next, a pack of cigarettes and some Playboys?"

Chuck leaned against the door frame and crossed his right foot over his left. "Come on, Blair, lighten up. He's a kid. He needs his father. I bought him phone so that he'd be able to call me whenever he wants. You do want Nick and I to have a healthy relationship, don't you?"

Blair gritted her teeth. Within five minutes of opening the door, Chuck had managed to give her a headache. "Don't you dare question the way I raise my son, Chuck, I –"

"_Your _son?" Chuck asked, incredulous. "Last time I checked, Nick's _my_ son, too. Divorce doesn't change that. It takes two to tango, sweetheart. Or mambo horizontally, I should say."

"I'm glad to see your wit hasn't been lost," Blair bit out before letting a heavy sigh escape. "Look, Chuck, I'm sick to death of fighting with you. It's been five months and I think we're both adult enough to make decisions _together _regarding Nicholas and what is and what's not appropriate for him. And really, to be quite honest, I have enough to deal with right now without adding bi-monthly feuds with my ex-husband into the mix."

A look of sympathy crossed Chuck's face. "Contrary to the portrait you've painted of me as being related to Satan himself, Blair, I don't wish the worst upon you. In fact, as the mother of my child, I wish for you the very opposite. The news that Eleanor's very sick hasn't gone unheard and if there's anything –"

Blair held up a hand. "Don't. I appreciate your concern, but it is what it is. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go speak to Nick. It's not enough that he thinks I'm the bad guy because he can't see you every day; now I'm Nurse Ratched because I won't allow a _child_ to have a cell phone."

"Calm down, Blair. I didn't realize that this would upset you so much. I never would have even gotten it for him if I would have known. You know that all I want is for Nick and me… and you… to stay connected," Chuck tried to convince Blair as his loafer toed the border between Blair's penthouse and the outside hallway. "You've known that ever since the divorce. We're still a family and – "

"Stop saying that, Chuck! We haven't been a family since you chose work over us!" she shouted, her voice strong before falling into an accusing whisper. "You were never there._ Ever_. Not for Nick's fourth birthday or fifth birthday or sixth birthday, not for my law school graduation, not for any of it." Blair poked him in the chest with her index finger reproachfully. "Do you know how many nights I sat up waiting for you to come home from work and how _hard_ I tried to be attractive to you when you finally did? Of course, you didn't care. Actually, I'm not convinced you even noticed. You just needed your beauty sleep so that you could wake up and ignore your family all over again the next day. Do you know how much it hurts to come second to a _job_?"

Chuck was incensed by the implied accusation that he didn't care about his family. His chest rose and fell with deep, deliberate breaths as he tried to keep his temper. "I did what I had to do to provide for us, Blair," he bit out through clenched teeth as his fingers gripped the door frame tightly.

Unmoved, Blair shook her head as she trailed her eyes over his form. "You just don't get it, do you? You used to try so hard not to be like your father, but now… now I'm doubting you ever _weren't_ him," she lamented.

That comment seemed to hit Chuck square in the stomach as all of the air dissipated from his lungs. "Blair..." he trailed off weakly. Blair suddenly felt very guilty at the sight of Chuck's crestfallen face and realized that maybe, just _maybe_ she went too far this time.

Their story was scary and romantic and angsty and tragic all at once, and the fact that it was over pained Blair to her very core. That pain made her lash out, made her want to hurt him. Still, though, those bottomless pools of chocolate gazing back at her managed to make Blair's heart flutter. Perhaps it was the intensity of that fluttering that caused Blair to reach her hand out and wistfully graze Chuck's neck with her fingertips. Lowering her hand downwards to smooth the lapel of his cream-colored jacket, she could feel Chuck trembling beneath her touch. "I know the real Chuck Bass is in there somewhere," Blair said in a hushed voice. "Bring him back to me."

Chuck fought to speak, fought to breathe, but Blair's actions had left him paralyzed. Only after Blair backed away did he collect himself. Standing up straight, Chuck adjusted his tie, and nodded resolutely, before managing to choke out, "Two Fridays from now?"

"Like always," confirmed Blair with a curt nod.

Blair closed the door quietly, pressing her back against it, and put her hand to her mouth to contain a heavy sob. Little did she know, Chuck still lingered on the other side.

"What's wrong, mom?" Nicholas' small voice asked as he padded into the entrance hall, an action figure hanging limply in his hand. "I didn't mean to make you sad."

Blair wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and ran to her son. "Oh no, baby. No, no, no. You didn't make me sad, I promise. "

Nicholas dropped the toy and began to wring his hands. "But you're crying," he pointed out as only a child would.

Blair reached for her son's hand, grasping it gently. "I'm just fine, honey. See?" She forced a wide smile for emphasis. "Now let's get you ready to go visit grandma. You know how much she loves that yellow polo on you."

xoxo

_AN: Yep, I know this was a totally angsty chapter and I'm very satisfied with it. Regarding the show, a lot of people really want CB to get back together LIKERIGHTNOW, and I'm one of the minority that doesn't (hence why I'm having them be divorced in this story). That being said, I _so_ ship C/B/happiness, so hang tight and take that as you will! From now on, I'll try to update weekly. _


	3. Chapter 2

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: While I don't own Gossip Girl, I _do_ own a Leonardo DiCaprio poster. Wanna trade?

**xoxo**

Shut out of Blair's penthouse as he's been accustomed to for the past five months, Chuck stood with an ear pressed to the door. He repeated this ritual every time he picked up or dropped off Nicholas, just so that he could spend a few more moments with his family (even if Blair didn't exactly realize he was still there). This time, the unmistakable sound of crying permeated through the heavy wood and Chuck felt his heart clench tightly with guilt. He let his head fall back against the wall, running a hand through his hair in frustration. All he wanted to do was take Blair in his arms, stroke her dense curls, and with a deep kiss, alleviate all of her problems like he used to be able to do. Now, it seemed, there was nothing Chuck could do to take Blair's hurt away, and for him, that was one of the most terrible results of the divorce.

As Chuck listened to the interaction between Blair and Nicholas, a wistful grin flickered across his face before disappearing almost as soon as it came. He really hadn't had many genuine smiles in the past months, mainly because if Chuck hadn't pushed his family to the brink of irreparability, then perhaps he would still be a part of it. Truthfully, the only thing that made Chuck smile anymore was the sight of his son.

After some seconds, the sounds on the other side of the door disappeared completely, and Chuck started making his way towards the elevator. When he pressed the button for the lobby and the elevator started bringing him further and further away from Blair and Nicholas, Chuck couldn't help but reflect upon the time he spent with his child this past weekend.

**xoxo**

_A content Nicholas sat cross-legged on the floor in Chuck's office, thumbing through an old issue of _ZooBooks _with Popsicle-covered hands_, _when he asked, "Can we go to the zoo today, Dad? I want to see the alligators!" The child held up the magazine and pointed a small finger to the huge reptile at the center of the page. "See how cool they are? They eat anything – even tigers!"_

_Chuck's hand, which was scribbling notes furiously on a document, fell still as he raised his head and looked at Nicholas. Really, Chuck couldn't have imagined a more wonderful child. He proudly observed his son, taking in all of Nick's features and memorizing them like a photograph. The straight nose and curly hair was all Blair's, while the jawline and eyebrows were Chuck's. _

_There was, however, one part of Nicholas that stemmed from neither Chuck nor Blair: his eyes, ice blue and full of confidence. _Those_ eyes were Bart's, and at that moment, they were burning right into Chuck's, curious for a response._

_Stirred at the similarity, Chuck swallowed hard before clearing his throat. "Sorry, Nick but Dad's very busy this afternoon. How about I call Uncle Nate and see if he could take you?" he offered as a consolation. _

"_But it's Saturday!" Nicholas pouted, crossing his arms in a Blair-like fashion over his green sweater vest. _

"_I know, buddy, but if I don't finish going over this contract, we could lose a lot of money." A pang of guilt stabbed Chuck's heart, but he forced himself to believe it was heartburn, and turned his attention back to the papers on his desk. He never intended on spending the day in the office, but his secretary Nina informed Chuck the evening before that the deadline for sealing the Yamagata deal had been pushed forward three days; Chuck simply couldn't afford any time for leisure this particular weekend. _

_Nicholas' bottom lip jutted out in a frown. "You never, _ever _want to do anything! I wish Uncle Nate was my dad!" the younger Bass whined, throwing the magazine to the corner of the office. _

_Chuck whipped his head up. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice a grave whisper. _

"_Nothing," Nicholas muttered, sticking his hands into the pockets of his little trousers and gazing around. Spotting Chuck's Blackberry on his father's desk, the capricious six-year-old's demeanor immediately turned cheerful. Nicholas shuffled casually over to Chuck and picked up the phone in his sticky hands. "Can I play a game on your phone?" he asked in a hopeful tone._

_While Nicholas had obviously already forgotten his earlier comment, Chuck had not, and he was still unnerved by it. All he could manage was a slight nod. _

**xoxo**

Chuck let out a conflicted sigh as he exited the deeply as memory shook him, Chuck just couldn't let it get to him. He had a career to pursue, a business to run, a son and ex-wife (and her shopping addiction) to support, and a legacy to carry on. In a perfect world, Chuck would have always been home at five in the evening and would never have had to fly around the world on business trips. But, as Chuck was well aware (and as Blair perhaps _wasn't_), this wasn't a perfect world, and leaving work on a whim to spend time with his family wasn't a luxury that Bass Industries afforded him. Surely with Eleanor relinquishing her position at the fashion company to Blair, his ex-wife would come to understand that, right?

Deep into his musings, Chuck didn't see the moving wheelchair headed right towards him.

"Fuck!" he hissed under his breath when his leg collided with the wheel.

A tired but stern voice chastised from the wheelchair, "Charles Bass!"

Chuck's head snapped to the side and he was face-to-face Cyrus and Eleanor Waldorf-Rose. "I… Eleanor… I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention," he apologized, taking in her weakened appearance.

Chuck hadn't seen Eleanor since after the divorce proceedings, and he certainly hadn't seen her after she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Her thinning hair was covered by a Louis Vuitton headscarf, her eyes by large, sepia-colored sunglasses. Eleanor's obviously small frame was hidden beneath a white chenille throw. Chuck couldn't believe he was looking at one of the strongest, independent women he'd ever known.

Blair's mother dismissed him with a flick of a hand. "Well, I advise you to watch where you're going, unless, of course, you decide to amble aimlessly into traffic."

Pleased at the sense of normality the still scathing Eleanor gave him, Chuck smirked, "I see you're the same Eleanor Waldorf I've always known and…"

Eleanor's sunglasses slid down the even slope of her nose and she peered over the top of them with a glint of humor in her eyes. "Despised? Go on and say it, Charles," she returned. "Why? How did you expect me to be? While the Enquirer would like you believe I'm a withering shell of myself, I'm quite proud to say I'm giving this fight all I've got."

Tentatively, Chuck put a hand on her shoulder, trying not to react to the boniness of her frame. "As you should, Eleanor. Keep fighting. Nick needs his grandma, and Blair needs her mother."

Eleanor smiled and patted Chuck's resting hand. "Thank you, Charles. Now, do me a favor and take your own advice before you lose her forever," she warned, "because mark my words, my daughter is quite resilient and she _will_ move on." Lifting her head sideways to face Cyrus, she added, "Let's go, dear. Treatment was rather tiresome today and I'd like to rest before Blair brings Nick down to visit."

"Of course, my love." Cyrus gave Chuck a sad smile and started pushing the wheelchair towards the elevator.

"Take care of yourself, Charles!" Eleanor called over her shoulder as Cyrus guided the chair through the doors of the lift.

Briefly waving his hand in response, Chuck turned on his heels and headed outside in the light rain towards his limo. As the vehicle drove slowly through the New York traffic, Chuck realized how comforted he was to know that Eleanor was rooting for him (as much as she liked to pretend she wasn't). While he assumed that Eleanor's surprising stance came mainly out of concern for her daughter's well-being, Chuck also knew that Blair's mother had taken a certain liking to him, as he had always had the nerve to stand up to her (of course, that wasn't to say that Eleanor didn't rip him a new one from time to time during divorce proceedings).

As the steady rain became heavier, and pounded mercilessly onto the roof of the limo, Blair's words rang in his head.

"_I know the real Chuck Bass is in there somewhere. Bring him back to me."_

A strange calm came over Chuck as he watched the water cascade in sheets down the window, washing it clean.

**xoxo**

_AN: Wow! I am super-shocked at all the reviews and I want you all to know that they really keep me motivated, so THANK YOU (and props to jsta for guessing where the little guy got his blue eyes)! Anyways, Chuck's POV is always interesting to write, and I wanted to have it in this story because I don't want you guys to think that I'm villainizing him (that's _so _not my intention)__. While he was shown as being a little Bart-like with Nick, I had to include it because I don't think it's realistic to have Chuck change overnight. It's a process, ya dig? And this was definitely finished way earlier than I planned, so just keep expectin' weekly updates.  
_


	4. Chapter 3

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: Just playing with your characters, Cecily!

**xoxo**

"Mom!" Nicholas complained as Blair tugged a (currently stuck) pastel yellow polo over the six-year-old's head. Once his little face peeked through the top of the shirt, Blair gave one final resolute pull and smiled.

"Your head is just as big as your father's, do you know that?" she joked with a laugh.

Nicholas beamed at the comparison. As all children tend to be, the blue-eyed boy was fickle, and while he didn't understand why Chuck was so consumed with papers, computers, and old men in suits, he also had the desire to be more like him. It was a classic case of unrequited attention, and Blair's heart hurt for her little boy.

She looked upon Nicholas with affection while she ran a wide-tooth comb through his thick hair. While Chuck had recently taken to styling their son's hair in a fashion similar to his own, Nicholas' unruly curls simply refused to be tamed.

_Got that from both of us,_ Blair thought as Chuck's face flashed in her mind.

When Nicholas was all dressed and groomed, Blair headed out of the bedroom and towards her own to start getting ready. She paused momentarily at the entrance to her room and frowned. It was a gorgeously decorated room, no doubt about that, but beyond the scent of peonies and the French vanilla walls, there was something missing. Blair couldn't quite put her finger on it, though. Dismissing her musings, Blair made a beeline for her walk-in closet.

She was in the middle of deciding between a rose petal Chanel dress and a more demure Chloé skirt and cardigan set when Nicholas shuffled into her room, donning a toothy grin and a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes.

Blair caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and she lifted her head, returning his smile. "What do you need, honey?"

"Can I play Wii for a little bit 'til we go to Grandma's?" he asked, putting on his best "just you _try _to say no to this face" face.

Blair smirked. "After all the trouble you gave me this morning, do you think I would actually let you play your video games?"

Too young to catch the subtle humor in her voice, Nicholas nodded and gave her a hesitant "yes".

"Hmm…" Blair pretended to contemplate for a long pause, putting a manicured fingertip to her chin. "I _guess_ you can go ahead and play, but if you break my high score in golf, then you're in big trouble!"

Nicholas broke out in a happy smile and promised excitedly, "I won't!" before turning on his heel.

"Wait a minute, Nick!" Blair called out cheerfully. "Which one?" She gestured to the two outfits lying flat on the queen-sized bed and looked at her son expectantly.

Nicholas trudged dutifully towards the bed and his icy eyes scanned the garments for a long moment before pointing a finger to the Chanel dress. "This one."

Blair nodded, satisfied with Nicholas' choice, and allowed him to go and play. Asking her son to help her choose her outfits was nothing out of the ordinary for Blair these days, since there was no Chuck around to give her his opinion (though Blair would bet money that Chuck would have chosen the Chanel dress as well – "Of course, it would look much better lying on the floor..." she imagined him saying).

After slipping into the dress, Blair went to sit at her vanity (despite being twenty-seven, she still kept the pretty chestnut antique from her old bedroom). She traced her fingers over her pearly skin, relieved at the fact that any wrinkles had thus far been kept at bay. Fresh-faced and without make-up, Blair could pass for seventeen, and there were many times in the past couple of years that she wished she still was.

Dusting translucent powder over her face and gliding a brush full of soft pink blush up her defined cheekbones, she sighed. Blair wouldn't call herself unhappy by any means (because Nicholas brought her unimaginable joy), but she _would_ call herself unsatisfied. Her storybook life hadn't turned out quite the way she had intended it to. Blair knew to begin with that she was taking a risk in trading her white knight Nathaniel for the dark prince Chuck, a risk that didn't exactly pay off. Still, though, as Chuck had always said (whilst he glanced over his stocks every afternoon), big investments could take years to pay off.

Blair swept the wand of her ultra black mascara over her already long lashes, giving them the appearance of butterfly wings. As Blair applied a nude gloss to her lips, she smiled. She supposed she could be likened to a butterfly; she was bright (intellectually), independent (socially), and free (of her eating disorder). The latter quality only resulted from a lengthy hospital stay and reminder of her son's dependence on her, but Blair pushed the negatives to the back of her mind and relished in the fact that she could rely on herself again. She just wished she had someone else to rely on so that all the weight currently resting on her back would be lessened.

"Nick! Time to go!" Blair called for her son as she tied her thick tresses back in an elegant bun and set white headband in her hair (the earlier decision to abandon them had been, in Blair's opinion, one of her more questionable moments in life).

After grabbing a black portfolio of sketches, she and Nicholas went down the elevator a floor, and Blair's white heels clicked on the marble inlay all the way to Eleanor and Cyrus' penthouse. Blair knocked three times on the heavy door and Cyrus opened it, greeting her and Nicholas with a cheerful grin and an energetic, "Why hello! Come in, come in!" He gestured towards them with frantic liveliness, causing Nicholas to break out in laughter.

"You're crazy, grandpa!" Nicholas said, clearly tickled at Cyrus' childlike glee. "I – Hey! Matt's here!" the six-year-old pointed fervently past Cyrus to a blond child in the background. Not bothering to wait for a response, Nicholas ran into the penthouse in excitement.

Blair shook her head, half amused and half embarrassed at her child's apparent lack of manners. "Nicholas, take your shoes off!" she shouted after him. "Sorry, Cyrus. Nick's just excited to see Matt. Which leads me to ask, is Dorota here?"

Cyrus chuckled and put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her inside. "Oh, of course she is. She, the baby, and little Maciek dropped by for a surprise visit a little while ago. Your mother's still resting but I'm sure she'll be up soon." He shot her a concerned look. "Though I have to say, Blair, you've been coming around an awful lot. It's okay to take time for yourself. I hope you know that."

Blair gave her stepfather an appreciative smile. "I know, but I can't help it. She's my mother and pretty much my puppetmaster as far as the company goes. You remember the last time I had a piece made without consulting her first, don't you? My ears were ringing for weeks. Not exactly an ideal ailment when you have a speech to give the next day."

"Ahh, that is true. Your taste in fashion is exquisite. Eleanor just likes to have the last say. Always has," Cyrus laughed. "And _you_, my dear, still have yourself and a son to look out for. I might be roughly the age of George Washington but I can still drive a car without going twenty under the speed limit. I'm taking good care of your mother."

"I know," Blair replied gratefully, "and I appreciate it. Thank you Cyrus."

Her stepfather smiled warmly and excused himself to the kitchen ("Latkes," he informed her). Blair stood alone momentarily, gazing around her at the place she used to live. She missed her bedroom. She missed the being Queen and having minions and having a fairytale whose ending hadn't been spoiled. She missed her dark prince and she missed her best friend. She missed it all.

_Maybe I'll call Serena tomorrow_, Blair contemplated.

Before Blair became too comfortable in her silence, a glowing Dorota beckoned her from the den. "Oh, Miss Blair, how I've missed you! Come sit. Miss Eleanor is still sleeping, so _shh_." She put a finger to her lips to solidify her point.

Blair obliged and entered the room quietly, leaning down to give her positively radiant maid (and friend) a long hug. "I've missed you too, Dorota," Blair admitted, before turning her attention to the newborn infant sleeping in Dorota's arms. "Oh my gosh, is that Maggie? She's gorgeous! I can't wait to buy her, her first Tiffany piece. She's going to be the H.B.I.C when she grows up, just like her auntie. Isn't that right, Maggie?"

The infant sneezed.

"I will be honored if Magdalena grows up like you," Dorota said, pride in her voice as she shifted carefully in her seat.

Blair's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and flattery. Dorota really knew how to cheer her up; she always has. That's why Blair never hesitated to come to her with a problem. And that's also why Dorota knew at that moment that Blair had something on her mind. "Miss Blair? Is everything okay?" she asked with the same concern she always had.

Blair's dark chocolate orbs flickered up from the baby to meet Dorota's stare. "Yes… well, no. Maybe. I don't know," Blair faltered, taking a seat on the foot of the couch where Eleanor was sleeping. "It's just… everything, Dorota. Everything's wrong and nothing's okay, and I don't know if anything will be okay again." Pausing to take a deep breath, Blair added, "I don't think I've said that aloud yet. I've thought it every day, but I've never said it."

Dorota looked at the woman she practically raised with deep sympathy. "Oh, Miss Blair, you have been through so much, I know. But you know what else I know?" She took Blair's hand in her own in a gesture of comfort.

"What?" Blair asked.

"I know that you have been through much before, and you came through each time stronger than ever. This time is no different. You have a wonderful son who loves you, and if you'll beg my pardon, Miss Blair, Mister Chuck loves you too. He always has."

Blair stiffened. "I don't want to talk about Chuck. _Chuck_ deserted his own _son_ for the sake of his career."

"But do you love him?" Dorota questioned knowingly.

Blair wrinkled her nose. "I plead the fifth." Dorota raised an eyebrow, causing Blair to add, "Ugh! Of course I love him, Dorota! What kind of question is that?"

"Just checking," Dorota smiled, patting Blair's hand. "And if you love someone, you want the best for them. What do you think the best thing for Chuck would be?"

Blair didn't hesitate. "To come home to his family and be a father. That would be the best thing. But he's Chuck Bass and he's going to do whatever the hell he wants, which usually tends to be the worst thing for him. You remember the ménage-a-stripper incident, don't you?"

Rolling her eyes, Dorota groaned, "How could I forget? But Miss Blair, I am not saying that getting back together immediately is the right thing. Life is too complicated to look at things in black or white."

"Well please, Dorota, enlighten me. What _is _the right thing?" Blair implored curiously, "Because truthfully, I'm one step away from calling Dr. Phil."

"In my country, Dr. Phil equals Bernie Madoff," the maid chuckles quietly. She continued, "There is no right thing, though, Miss Blair. You need to do what makes you feel good _here_." Dorota tapped her chest at the spot where her heart was.

Blair pondered Dorota's words and leaned back into the couch cushions. Her eyes fell upon Eleanor's sleeping form, frail beneath the soft blanket. She looked even smaller than the last time Blair had seen her, if that was even possible. Tears pricked in Blair's eyes but she bit down hard on her bottom lip and drew in a deep breath. She _couldn't_ complain about presiding over Waldorf Designs, not when her mother was in a state like this. Blair's heart wouldn't let her give up everything her mother worked so hard to accomplish, and it sure as hell wouldn't let her let go of Chuck Bass.

**xoxo**

_AN: Long chapter, I know! How'd you guys like it? We'll probably get Eleanor/Blair in a couple chapters because next one is going to be Chuckles' POV again. Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! Expect a chapter next week sometime._


	5. Chapter 4

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl… yet ;)

**xoxo**

_Chuck looked down at his Rolex and sighed, exasperated. He was going to be late. Again. As he sat in the back of his limo, Chuck contemplated the different words that Blair would use to verbally castrate him ("selfish Basstard" came to mind). He knew that Blair had been planning something special for their anniversary tonight (having been married for two whole years), and Chuck made it a point to stop off at Tiffany's on the way home to pick out a sapphire and diamond necklace that said "I love you" as well as "I'm sorry for being late". _

_Gripping the blue bag tightly in his hand as he exited the limo, Chuck's heart raced rapidly. He gazed up at the four-story, Upper East Side townhouse he, Blair, and newborn Nicholas shared. Chuck never considered any of the places he lived before "home", but the minute he and his dream girl signed on the dotted line for the Georgian townhouse, Chuck knew it was where he belonged._

_"__Sorry I'm late," Chuck apologized as he stepped into the foyer and put his coat on the coat rack. "I know you're probably upset but I've got something that might lighten your mood." He turned around, expecting to see a very cross Blair waiting for him, but a loud wail from Nicholas was the only response._

_Chuck started up the stairs towards the baby's nursery, bewildered. From what Blair had told him earlier, Dorota was supposed to bring Nicholas to her apartment for the evening so that Chuck and Blair could have the night to spend alone. Considering the fact that it was nine and the infant was still there, Chuck could only imagine that Blair, pissed off at Chuck for being late, told Dorota to go home to her family for the night as usual._

"_Blair?" he called out again, feeling especially guilty._

_Still nothing._

_Chuck walked into the nursery, the soft yellow light casting a glow over his tired face. When he saw his crying son, Chuck immediately set the Tiffany's bag on the changing table and reached his hands into the crib, picking up three-month old Nicholas. "What's wrong, buddy?" he asked the baby as he rocked Nicholas softly in his arms. Big blue eyes stared up at Chuck as the cries quieted. Looking around to make sure Blair hadn't snuck up on them, Chuck whispered, "Your dad's in very big trouble. Let's go find mom before she finds me."_

_Nicholas gave him a gummy smile and squealed, tiny fingers catching on the blue fabric of his onesie._

"_Not funny," Chuck admonished, an amused smirk betraying his serious tone. _

_With the baby in his arms, Chuck walked down the maple floors, peeking his head into each room as he repeated Blair's name. She wasn't in the bedroom nor was she in the study, where she tended to read her magazines and textbooks. Chuck's stomach lurched nervously; it wasn't like Blair to leave Nicholas crying like that. _

_Chuck went downstairs, his shaky legs guiding him into the kitchen. When he saw the small remainder of red velvet cake (his favorite) in crumbles on its tray, Chuck's feelings of anxiety were confirmed, and he instinctively held Nicholas tighter in his arms. _

"_Blair!" he shouted, suddenly terrified. _

_The loudness of Chuck's voice startled Nicholas, and the infant immediately started crying. Chuck felt like he could do the same at the thought of what could have happened to Blair, and he nearly ran towards the bathroom, not bothering to waste time putting Nicholas in his playpen. _

_When he finally did find her, Chuck stopped in his tracks, shocked. An ashen-faced Blair was lying on the cool tiles of the bathroom, unresponsive and immobile. Chuck didn't want to move, didn't want to know if his deepest fear had been realized, but sheer desperation forced him to spring into action. Her skin was cool to the touch and her lips were blue, but Blair's chest rose with shallow breaths. She was alive, and as long as there was life, there was hope. _

_After dialing 911, Chuck closed his eyes and leaned against the bathroom wall, cradling a screaming Nicholas in one hand and stroking the hair of an unconscious Blair with his other. The infant's cries pierced the otherwise eerie silence like a sharp steel dagger driving deep into someone's heart. Money couldn't solve this problem; all Chuck could do was wait. _

**xoxo**

Chuck woke up in a cold sweat. He put a shaky hand to his forehead and took a deep breath, muttering, "This is absurd."

Chuck rolled on his side and turned on the light. The alarm clock displayed "4:17". There was no way he was going to be falling back asleep now on his own. The night Blair nearly died (she was "severely dehydrated as a result of a prolonged electrolyte imbalance" according to the doctor) was the scariest moment of his life, scarier than getting the call that his father was in an accident, scarier than getting shot in a dark alley. The memory plagued his dreams on a near-nightly basis ever since the divorce; suffice to say, he'd long been accustomed to relying on pharmaceuticals to help him sleep.

Chuck left the king-size bed he and Blair used to share to retrieve an Ambien and three finger's worth of scotch. He didn't want to live in a place with so many memories, but he didn't want to let go, either. Anyways, Chuck really didn't have much of a choice, since Blair refused to take the house in the divorce ("I'm not playing 'War of the Roses' with you, Bass," she had declared haughtily).

While he waited for the effects of the pill to kick in, Chuck leaned against the window in the dark den, the cool glass feeling euphoric against his warm skin. Outside, the night was black as coal, calming and mesmerizing to a very tired Chuck. The alcohol started giving him a faint tingling in the tips of his fingers, and Chuck's eyelids drooped lower and lower, instinctively fighting the urge to sleep. He jerked his head up, forcing his eyes to open, before padding dazedly to the couch and lying down.

As tired as his body was, his mind wouldn't turn off, and Chuck did what he always did before he fell asleep: he thought of his family.

As he drifted further and further away from the conscious world, Chuck remembered holding Blair's warm hand, kissing her temple, and swearing to her that he'd never take her for granted again. After Blair's hospitalization, and while she was getting intense therapy, Chuck start trying much harder to be around his family. He'd bring Blair fresh roses every Sunday, and even left work early a few times a week to go to the MOMA and Central Park and other Manhattan staples with his wife and son.

The peak of his change came when Blair started law school; Chuck would take long breaks to bring her lunch and read over her essays on tort law and philosophic burden of proof. Work started taking a backseat to helping his wife succeed, and by then, Chuck and Blair were doing better than ever. When Bass Industries took a big hit after losing several important properties, however, Chuck was forced to start laying off employees, and he came to the realization that he had been neglecting his work duties. After the massive layoffs, Chuck gradually started spending more and more hours at the office restoring the company, and less time at home.

_But I _had_ to._

Even in the delirious semi-conscious state Chuck was in, he still defended himself. He was caught in between his pride and his desire, a dangerous place to be when everything Chuck cared about was at risk of being lost forever.

Soon, Chuck felt his eyes closing again, and this time, he let the darkness overtake him.

**xoxo**

_Clad in a black suit overlying a light purple dress shirt, Chuck admired himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. He slid a purple printed bowtie over his head, making sure to adjust the fit perfectly. His hair, matted slightly across his forehead, gave Chuck a mischievously boyish appearance, and his smirk completed the look. _

_Opening the medicine cabinet, Chuck grabbed his prescription bottle full of Adderall and, after popping the cap off, shook out two little blue tablets. _

_He swallowed them dry, then shut the medicine cabinet. _

_Sparkling chocolate eyes stared back at an open-mouthed Chuck. _

"_Blair?" _

_He turned around to make sure she was real. Her dark eyes blinked twice and that was all it took to convince Chuck. It was true. Blair was real and she was standing in front of him, her petite frame draped in a light blue MBMJ dress, a pretty cream headband set perfectly in her dark curls. A tie made of shiny white pearls hung loosely down her chest, overlaying a simple black necklace. "But how?" Chuck breathed as he cupped her cheek and ran a rough thumb over her pouty lower lip. _

_Blair leaned forward. "I've missed you, Chuck," she whispered into his ear, her hot breath sending shivers down Chuck's spine. _

_Chuck felt his chest tighten with yearning as he took her right hand in his and brought it to his lips. He kissed each smooth white knuckle tenderly. "I've missed you, too, Blair," Chuck admitted. "More than you know."_

_Blair smiled warmly as she ran her fingers through Chuck's hair. "Where have you been?" she asked curiously.  
_

_Chuck grinned, clearly confused. "I've been here, gorgeous. I've been right here with you."_

_Blair cocked her head, admonishing him with a wag of her index finger. "No, silly. Where have _you_ been? My Chuck from Victrola. My Chuck from Lily's wedding. You've been gone far too long." She slid her hands beneath Chuck's suit jacket and ran them up his chest with a wistful smile on her lips. _

_Chuck shrugged his jacket off and grasped Blair's forearms, pulling her closer to him. He put an arm around her slim waist and slid a hand up Blair's back, thumbing the zipper of her dress between his fingers. "Lost, Blair. I'm lost."_

_Chuck tugged the zipper down and Blair shivered as cool air hit her soft flesh. "I need you, Chuck," she murmured gently, sliding out of her dress, her body still sheathed in a cream slip. She sauntered backwards, resting at the entrance from the bathroom to the bedroom. Batting her long, dark lashes, Blair extended her arm towards Chuck and urged softly, "Come home."_

_Chuck nodded dumbly as he took a step towards an ethereal Blair. He wrapped her small hand in his own and let Blair guide him out the bathroom. When he blinked, Chuck and Blair were no longer in their townhouse, but rather in the back of a vehicle – a limo, to be exact. _

_Blair was still in her slip, and Chuck couldn't breathe because she was so extraordinarily beautiful. Chuck leaned into her, and when Blair parted her lips, kissed her hard. Tangling his fingers in her thick hair, Chuck let his other hand trail up her thigh to her right breast. "God, I love you," he told Blair between kisses._

"_I love you, too, Chuck," Blair moaned._

**xoxo**

When Chuck awoke the second time, he was pleasantly surprised to see the morning sun shining through the window, illuminating the room in pastel shades of orange and gold. Chuck felt refreshed (not to mention incredibly turned on). It was amazing how the thought of Blair could affect him so profoundly depending on the context of the situation. He had no idea what time it was, but judging by the height of the sun in the sky, that Ambien and scotch combo had knocked him out for quite a while.

Chuck quickly ran to the kitchen and checked the time on the microwave. 11:15.

"Shit," he said to no one in particular. Chuck had been using Ambien ever since divorce and it tended to make him oversleep from time to time. This time it actually mattered, though, because he had a flight to Australia to take in the afternoon. He wanted to personally check in with his Uncle Jack to see how business was being conducted at the Aussie branch of Bass Industries.

**xoxo**

Three hours later, as the Boeing 747 flew over the Atlantic Ocean, Chuck finally realized where Blair was coming from. She told him to come home, and all he was doing was flying away.

_If only a habit could be as easily changed as a suit_, Chuck thought as he absentmindedly watched the distant blue waters below him.

**xoxo**

_AN: Before anyone asks, Uncle Jack is a tertiary character and is not going to have anything to do with the main course of the story. Let's just pretend C and J had no beef and B and J never met. K? K. Also, I __thought I'd give a little flash into a big moment in B & C's life, and I also wanted to have some interaction between the two (since plot-wise they aren't going to interact until the next chapter). So… er… yeah, that's what all the dreams and flashbacks are about. Love them? Hate them? Let me know, and thanks again, everyone, for R&R'ing! _


	6. Chapter 5

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: I _wish_ I owned Gossip Girl.

**xoxo**

"Miss Blair, it's nearly eight. Perhaps we should all leave Miss Eleanor to rest," Dorota suggested, her eyes tracking Blair as the brunette tightened her grip on Eleanor's hand and, with her other, tucked the blankets around her mother.

Blair kept her eyes trained on Eleanor, not bothering to look up. "I can't, Dorota. I need to be here when she wakes up. We have work to do."

"Okay, Miss Blair."

Dorota shook her head sadly. Clearly, Blair was denying the obvious; that is, that Eleanor was starting to sleep increasingly longer as each day passed, and, while she had bouts of normalcy, the end was imminent.

Both women let a small sigh of relief when Eleanor's eyes fluttered open. Nodding a slight "hello" to Eleanor, Dorota stood up with Maggie in tow and left the room out of respect to mother and daughter.

"Hello, dear," Eleanor smiled at Blair as her voice cracked. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but you know how tired I get these days."

Blair took a deep breath, fixing her lips in a pert grin. "Me too. I'm convinced it's effect of the impending winter," she said casually, picking up the portfolio that had been resting on the floor. "Speaking of winter, I've got a few designs for you to look over. I've spent a lot of time on these ones and –"

Eleanor raised a hand and ordered weakly, "Stop, Blair. Please. Let's discuss something other than work, shall we?"

Blair looked surprised. Eleanor had _always_ prioritized work in the past. What was so different this time? "Uh, of course, mom," conceded Blair as she let the portfolio drop to the carpet.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Eleanor said as she squeezed Blair's hand. "Guess who I ran into this morning after radiation?"

Blair paused to think. "No idea. Enlighten me."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "Charles Bass, of course. He wasn't paying the slightest attention to where he was walking and happened to run directly into my wheelchair."

"I should have known," Blair replied spitefully. "Typical Bass, always thinking of himself and not caring in the least about anyone else."

"He was actually quite apologetic," Eleanor said with a gleam in her eye before adding reproachfully, "You know, Blair, I hate to say it but I do think you've been demonizing Charles quite excessively lately."

Blair stiffened in her seat. Furrowing her brows together, she asked, incredulous, "I think there's something in my ear, mother, because I could have sworn you just took Chuck's side." Crossing her arms over her chest, Blair added, "And if you recall, Chuck was the one that 'demonized,' as you put it, his own family, so really, I'm quite content with passing my own judgment, thank you very much."

Eleanor shook her head softly. "You don't get it, do you, Blair? You're denying the inevitable."

Blair's eyes burned. "The _inevitable_? And just what is _that _supposed to mean?" she asked.

"I'm dying, Blair. _Dying_," Eleanor emphasized as loudly as her weak voice would allow, "as we speak. Pretending it's not happening will not make it go away, and pretending you don't want Charles back won't make your feelings go away either. Why do you insist on making your life more difficult for yourself, Blair? Understand the situation as it is and then _do _something about it."

The room was draped in a heavy silence as Blair's jaw clenched tightly. "Last time I checked,_ mother_, you aren't Nostradamus, so how about you quit acting like you know what I'm thinking or feeling," she hissed, her tone defensive.

Eleanor closed her eyes, tired. "Fine," she murmured with a wave of her hand. "I just hate seeing you unhappy, Blair, and if Charles wants to make an earnest effort to change that, then he has my full support."

Tears pricked at the corners of Blair's eyes but she refused to let them fall.

_Get it together, Waldorf, _Blair commanded herself, because Eleanor didn't need the drama, and frankly, neither did she. Blair took a deep, controlled breath before asking calmly, "And if he doesn't make an effort? What then?"

"Then you move on, sweetheart," her mother said quietly. "Simple as that."

Blair let Eleanor's words soak into her mind as minutes passed in silence. Impulsively, Blair leaned over and gave her mother a gentle hug. "I love you, mom."

"Oh, darling. I love you, too," Eleanor reciprocated warmly.

Thanks," Blair whispered. "For everything."

**xoxo**

Evening turned to night.

Rain turned to sleet.

As Blair sank comfortably into her inviting bed, she wished she could fall forever.

**xoxo**

Monday morning soon arrived in all its gloomy, dreary glory. From the sullen ash sky fell tiny white snowflakes, and Blair shivered beneath her blankets reflexively.

A loud creaking of the bedroom door forced the brunette out of her slumber, and Blair opened her eyes, focusing them on the tiny figure padding towards her bed.

Nicholas was fully dressed, clad in coal black pants and a white button-down shirt. His little tie, purple and black paisley, was tied perfectly, and his shiny (and untied) black shoes completed the ensemble. True to form, however, Nicholas' unruly dark curls struck a funny juxtaposition against his reserved dress clothes.

"Morning, mom," he greeted Blair.

Blair sat up against the headboard of her bed and gave her son a puzzled smile. "Well look who's all dressed up for school today!" she praised him. "How do you know how to put on ties, Nick? Did dad show you?"

Nicholas shrugged bashfully.

Blair smiled. "That was nice of him. How about I get ready and then I'll fix you breakfast before school?"

"Waffles?" Nicholas asked hopefully.

Blair quirked a brow. "Waffles, huh?" she asked.

"Yep. Grandpa Rufus made them this weekend like always, remember?" Nicholas answered. "I want more!"

Blair swung her legs over the side of the bed and stuck her feet into the soft slippers that sat near the nightstand. Walking towards her closet, Blair asked over her shoulder, "That good this time?"

"Yeah. I put lots of syrup on mine."

"Really? That sounds delicious," Blair responded with exaggerated interest before inquiring curiously, "Hey, Nick, who was at Grandpa and Grandma's?"

Six-year-olds were always good for divulging details.

"Me and dad and Uncle Dan and Auntie Serena and Grandma Lily and Aunt Jenny and – "

"Oh, alright. I think I've got the gist of it, honey," Blair interrupted Nicholas with a smile. She ushered him out of the room with promises of waffles before shutting the bedroom door and getting ready.

Blair sat at her vanity and applied her make-up as per usual. Wistfully, she remembered when she, Chuck, and Nicholas would go to waffle dinner Fridays at the Humphrey's as a family. Now, Blair couldn't even imagine intruding. Deep down, she knew that she was always welcome at the Humphrey's, but the fact that Chuck and Lily were extremely close as mother and son made Blair feel too uncomfortable to go there anymore. To be honest, though, Blair was jealous of Lily - jealous that Chuck continued to make an effort to go see her, jealous that he continued have family dinners with her.

"Mother issues," Blair muttered under her breath as she rolled her eyes and finished applying her red lipstick.

Once ready, Blair moved to the kitchen and made Nicholas waffles as promised.

Garnishing the top of the waffles with whipped cream and strawberries, Blair said proudly, "I'm sure these aren't as delicious as Grandpa Rufus', but they do look pretty good, don't they?"

She gave Nicholas his plate and looked at him fondly as he stuffed waffles into his mouth. "Yeth," he attempted to say through his mouthful of food.

"Take it easy, Speed Racer," Blair warned him as she sipped on her cup of coffee.

Nicholas said something akin to "okay" and continued eating as Blair eyed the plate with a twinge of longing in her eyes. The waffles were tempting, but coffee would have to suffice. She was having lunch with Serena at two o'clock anyways.

**xoxo**

"I really wish you would have come Friday, B."

"You say that every week, Serena," Blair sighed as she forked a piece of romaine lettuce. "You know I can't."

Serena crossed and uncrossed her long, tanned legs and shook her head, giving her golden locks the effect of looking like a cascading waterfall. "You _can_, Blair. You just choose not to. We all miss you, you know."

Blair smiled and replied sarcastically, "Right, S. I'm sure Dan is just _falling_ apart without my presence."

Serena finished swallowing a piece of her chicken sandwich and shrugged. "It's true, B! I can't compete with your banter. He told me my outfit looked like something out of _Caberet _and I cried."

"I guess I do miss making fun of his penchant for plaid," Blair admitted with a cock of her head. "Things have just been stressful, Serena. I've got Nick and the business and my mother to juggle. It's hard."

Serena finished the last bite of her sandwich and gave her friend a sympathetic look. "I know it is. I'm always here to help, you know."

"You aren't always here, though, S. That's the thing. You're either dealing with press for your clients or you're at some celebrity function," Blair commented, exasperated as she threw her napkin atop her unfinished salad. "So thanks for the offer, Serena, but you shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

Blair's phone buzzed on the table urgently and the brunette gave Serena a strange look as she looked down at the screen. "It's Cyrus," Blair said, bewildered. She answered the phone with a perplexed, "Hello?"

"_Blair. Your mother. She… I… I'm sorry. So sorry."_

**xoxo**

Chuck's mouth fell open at the large, bolded words on the website of Associated Press.

**Famed fashion designer Eleanor Waldorf dead at 53.**

A deluge of thoughts flooded his mind. Where was Blair? How did she take it? Was she okay? He remembered how he took his father's death, and shuddered at the idea that Blair could self-destruct like he did.

_I have to know_, Chuck told himself.

He stood up and strode down the aisle towards one of the flight attendants. "How much longer until we land?"

"We've got quite a bit of time left, sir," the flight attendant informed him.

Chuck glowered. "Why don't you be a little more _specific_?"

The flight attendant checked her watched nervously. "A-about five hours, sir," she stammered. "We'll be refueling in London."

"Yeah, well I don't _have _five hours," Chuck spat impatiently.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to sit down," the flight attendant urged him timidly.

Chuck balled his fists. "Listen, sweetheart, I need to get off this plane, and I don't have five hours to wait. So now we have a problem, don't we?"

The flight attendant stepped backwards, and the apprehensive eyes of the first-class passengers became trained on Chuck. "Sir, if you don't sit down, I'm going to have to call the captain, and he _will_ have you arrested upon landing," she warned him.

Chuck's nostrils flared in anger. He stared the flight attendant down with heated eyes before reluctantly finding his way back to his seat. Resting his elbows on his knees, Chuck let his head fall into his hands and found himself trying not to cry.

**xoxo**

_AN: I know ya'll wanted some CB action, but this chapter was a critical segue to the next part of the story. Next chapter will be VERY CB-heavy, so look forward to that! Thanks for R&R-ing, guys._


	7. Chapter 6

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: Gossip Girl? Mine? That's a funny joke!

**xoxo**

"Blair."

"Blair."

"BLAIR!"

Fellow patrons turned to stare at the pair of women, but Serena's voice hardly seemed to reach the brunette's ears. Blair suddenly felt as if she were underwater, distant and far away from everything warm and safe.

_He's lying. He must be lying. _

There was no other alternative.

Wordlessly, Blair pushed herself away from the table and jumped up, purse gripped tightly in one hand, her cell phone in the other.

Serena was left speechless as she watched Blair burst through the glass doors of the restaurant in a controlled panic.

**xoxo**

Blair pounded mercilessly on the heavy door.

"Where is she, Cyrus?" she demanded furiously as her step-father opened the door. "Where is my mother?"

Perhaps if Blair had stopped to breathe, she would have noticed the utterly grief-stricken expression on Cyrus' face. His eyes were bloodshot, the corners of his lips turned downward in heavy frown, and for once in his life, Cyrus Rose couldn't find the right words to comfort even himself.

Blair paced around the foyer anxiously waiting for Cyrus' response.

The widower suddenly looked twenty years older. "I… I was going to wake her for treatment… She… when I went upstairs…" Cyrus put a liver-spotted hand to his forehead. "She was gone, Blair. She was gone."

Seemingly ignoring the implications of Cyrus' words, Blair responded, "So she's in bed, then?"

Cyrus nodded weakly.

Blair rushed towards the staircase, ignoring the pain in her feet she'd acquired from running in her stilettos. Her mind was clouded, dazed, and Blair didn't even realize how mechanically she was operating until she reached Eleanor's bedroom door and turned the knob with a shaking hand.

"Mom!" Blair shouted urgently as she pushed through the door and hurried to Eleanor's bedside.

She leaned in close to Eleanor. "Mom!" Blair cried out again, brushing short wisps of hair out of the older woman's face. "Tell me he's crazy. Tell me Cyrus is crazy and that this is his idea of a joke!"

Eleanor's lips remained fixed together in a thin line, causing Blair's eyes to widen into large brown discs. She grabbed Eleanor's still-warm shoulders with two firm hands and shook them in violent desperation. "Wake up! This isn't funny anymore!"

"Sudden death isn't uncommon once the cancer reaches stage four." A solemn voice brought Blair back to the real world and she turned her head weakly to see a devastated Cyrus standing in the doorway.

Sad, blue eyes locked on brown as Blair shook her head in disbelief. "No," she whispered.

"Blair…" Cyrus took a wavering step forward.

"No. No, no, no, no!" Blair wailed, collapsing atop Eleanor's lifeless form as deep, heavy sobs wracked her body. She couldn't breathe; the weight of the reality crushed her chest with unyielding force. Blair buried her face in soft gray fabric of her mother's sweater, inhaling as the scent of Yves Saint Laurent's Parisienne permeated through the material. It was all Blair had left.

Cyrus rested two gentle hands upon Blair's shoulders. "Blair, darling, we'll get through this."

"Get away from me!" Blair hissed through her tears as she jerked away from Cyrus attempt at consolation.

Cyrus took a step backwards. "I just want to help you," he mumbled sadly. Stopping once again in the doorway, Cyrus added, "I know you don't want to hear this, Blair. I don't want to even say it because Eleanor is… w-was… my soulmate, but… but she can't stay in this bed forever. We have to make the necessary arrangements for transportation to the… the… well, you know."

Blair suddenly became eerily still, clearly perturbed by Cyrus' words. She didn't look up, but she knew her step-father was still there, and so Blair whispered. "I can't, Cyrus. Not yet."

"I feel the same way," Cyrus replied gloomily, before adding, "You know what? Don't worry about Nicholas today. I'll have Dorota take care of him."

Blair managed a sob in response.

**xoxo**

Chuck's plane wasn't scheduled to arrive at Heathrow until nine at night, but whilst thirty-five thousand feet in the air, he'd taken advantage of the inflight internet and booked himself an immediate ticket back to the States.

Tapping the toe of his loafer anxiously, Chuck stared at his Rolex, counting the seconds until he'd be on a flight back to Manhattan, back to Blair.

**xoxo**

It wasn't until seven o'clock in the evening, when Dorota came to convince Blair with gentle words and comforting touch, that Eleanor's body was removed from the penthouse. As the corpse was being placed on a stretcher, Blair found herself sobbing into the crook of Dorota's neck.

"Oh, Miss Blair. You need rest. I bring you upstairs now, yes?" the maid offered, concerned at Blair's lack of composure.

Blair nodded reluctantly and let Dorota guide her out of the Waldorf-Rose penthouse and up the elevator to her own floor. Once safely inside her own dwelling, Blair turned away from Dorota and dismissed her with a wave. "You can leave now, Dorota," she said with a sniffle. "I'm sure Vanya isn't too pleased with having to juggle three children alone tonight."

"Are you sure, Miss Blair? You don't look so good," a worried Dorota observed.

Blair slammed fists down on the kitchen counter. "Just go!" she screeched.

Dorota obliged hesitantly, shutting the door behind her with apprehension, and suddenly, Blair realized she had no idea what to do with her new-found solitude. There was no son to put to bed tonight, no husband to seduce, no mother with whom she could gossip about Manhattanites. A growling in her stomach reminded Blair that she'd only had half of a salad the entire day, and so Blair decided to find something to eat. It was the last thing that she wanted to do, but Blair hoped that maybe it would take her mind off of things.

Opening the fridge, Blair surveyed its contents, dissatisfied. She moved to the freezer and discovered an unopened pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

The first bite forced its way down Blair's tight throat, the coolness of the dessert contrasting against the feverish heat of her skin. The calories pained her, but it was nothing compared to the images that were flashing through Blair's mind.

She thought of her mother's motionless body, of the painfully distraught look on Chuck's face when Blair served him with divorce papers, of the sound of Nicholas crying when she yelled at him one morning in a fit of anger.

She thought of Serena's heartbroken expression when Blair reneged on their friendship for the fifth time, of her own disappointed expression upon discovering she gained five pounds, of screaming in Cyrus' face this afternoon.

Blair couldn't stand it. She was a bad daughter, a bad wife, a bad mother, a bad friend, a bad _Blair._

Suddenly, she found that the next few bites of the ice cream were a lot easier to take.

It wasn't until the entire contents of the carton were consumed that Blair realized she'd binged. Looking down, Blair grimaced at the cold spoon clenched tightly in her hand. She'd been trying so hard to maintain her figure, and with a single pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, she ruined it all.

There was only acceptable option, and with her life spiraling out of control, Blair knew what she had to do.

**xoxo**

Chuck allowed himself to sleep on the flight back to New York. When he woke up, it was almost six in the morning, and the plane was just beginning to descend. He was getting more anxious by the second. Too many hours had passed since Eleanor's death to assume that Blair wasn't doing anything stupid.

After getting off of the plane, Chuck nearly ran to his limo. He checked his watch again. Seven twenty. Chuck decided he didn't care if Blair was sleeping or not; he had to see her. He had to know she was alright.

Sprinting through the lobby of Blair's building, Chuck didn't even acknowledge the confused looks of businessmen and women heading off to work. Once on the eleventh floor, Chuck automatically made a right from the elevator and walked down the hallway until he reached Blair's door.

In Chuck's pocket was a little silver key – the key to la casa de Waldorf. Blair had given it to him a month after the divorce in the event of an emergency. The sinking feeling in his stomach this morning told Chuck that this was definitely emergency, and so, he slid the key into the lock and turned it with unsteady fingers. Upon opening the door, Chuck found the penthouse silent, and he suddenly had the fleeting thought that perhaps he was overreacting, that Blair and Nicholas were both sleeping. That was before he saw the empty ice cream container on the kitchen counter.

"Come on, Blair…" he muttered under his breath as he continued to explore the rest of the penthouse. Pressing open the door to Nicholas' room, Chuck peeked inside and saw the bed empty, and found the same when he looked into Blair's room.

_Relax, Bass. It's a school day. Blair is bringing Nick to Bank Street as we speak_, he told himself.

Chuck finally made his way the back of the penthouse where the bathroom was. The cream door was ajar, and so Chuck took the opportunity to look through the crack. The angle allowed him to a view of the mirror, and in the reflection of the mirror, Chuck could see Blair's small feet aligned daintily together.

When he entered the bathroom, Chuck's heart broke at the sight before him. Blair was resting, dazed, against the bathroom wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, revealing milky legs dotted with random yellow bruises. Blair's eyes were wide and vacant, her dry lips parted slightly. She looked like a broken porcelain doll, and Chuck decided to take it upon himself right there and then to put her back together.

"Blair," he breathed, kneeling beside her cautiously. Blair didn't acknowledge him, but she didn't flinch either when Chuck brushed his hand against her cheek, which was sticky with dried tears. "Blair, baby, talk to me. Tell me you're okay," Chuck urged her again, and again Blair didn't answer. Chuck tried a different tactic, one that he was certain would draw out a response from her. "Blair, where's Nick? Where's our son?"

Blair's glassy eyes darted to Chuck's own. "He's fine. He's with Dorota."

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief, relief that was immediately replaced by concern. "Are you hurt?"

Blair shrugged. "You could say that." She let Chuck take that answer in before adding in a monotonous voice, "Why are you here, Chuck? This isn't an emergency. This is nothing."

"I heard about Eleanor, Blair," Chuck watched as his ex-wife winced at the mention of her mother's name. "I know you better than anyone else and I know how you cope. I also know that this isn't _nothing_."

Closing her eyes, Blair let her head fall back against the cool tile. "God, Chuck, go bother somebody else. I'm too exhausted to deal with this right now."

Chuck watched her with scrutinizing eyes. "Have you slept?"

Blair shook her head weakly. Deciding it was time to take matters into his own hands, Chuck slid one arm behind Blair's back and the other one underneath her knees. Lifting her easily, Chuck took three long strides out of the bathroom and started making his way towards Blair's bedroom.

"This isn't _Gone With The Wind_, Chuck. Put me down," Blair protested, though the exhaustion in her voice lessened the effect of her words.

Chuck ignored her complaints, setting Blair down only when he reached her soft bed. "You need rest," he stated, walking to her armoire and retrieving a silk nightgown. "Here. This will be more comfortable." Chuck's hand lingered against Blair's as he handed her the nightgown, and suddenly his heart started thudding out of control.

"It's morning, Chuck. I have things to do," Blair argued, her dry throat causing her voice to crack as she started to sit up in the bed.

Chuck shrugged. "Then I guess you'll have to postpone your 'things', because today you're taking it easy."

"I can't."

"You can and you will. I'll take care of things."

Blair rolled her eyes and started pulling at the zipper of her dress. Oh, how she wanted to prove to Chuck that she was fine, but after the events of the prior day, Blair didn't have it in her to argue with him. Instead, she settled on interrogation. "How did you know to come?" she inquired, "Did Dorota put you up to this, Chuck Bass?"

Chuck averted his eyes to the floor as Blair slipped out of her dress and then tugged the nightgown over her head. "Call it my sixth sense."

Blair snuggled underneath her plush comforter. Her body hurt and her soul hurt, but she was secretly relieved Chuck had come. "So now you're Spiderman?" she asked with the faintest bit of humor in her voice. In her fatigued mind, part of Blair really wondered if Chuck was her superhero.

"Something like that," Chuck smirked before adding in a more serious tone, "Have you had anything to drink since…"

"No," Blair admitted.

Chuck said nothing; instead, he went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of filtered water. "Here. Drink," he ordered as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. Blair blushed as she accepted the glass from Chuck. She didn't even realize how thirsty she was until she finished the whole glass, and when she handed it back to Chuck, he nodded in acceptance.

A long period of silence fell, and Chuck was about to get up and leave when Blair said groggily, "I didn't mean to."

Chuck turned to look at her with furrowed brows. "Of course you didn't, Blair. I know that."

"Good," Blair managed to say through a yawn.

"Sleep tight, Blair," Chuck whispered, shifting on the bed to give her a tentative kiss on the forehead.

Blair looked him through half-closed eyes. "Don't leave," she uttered in a hazy tone.

Chuck knew that Blair was exhausted, dehydrated, and overwhelmed, but for once he didn't think his presence would hurt her any more than she already was, and so he replied, "I won't, Blair. I won't."

**xoxo**

_AN: How'd you guys like it? This chapter was really sad to write, but I love the CB interaction. I think it's about time Chuck takes care of Blair, anyways (referring to my hopes for the upcoming GG season). Hope ya'll enjoyed it as much as I did. There'll be plenty of issues to explore in the upcoming chapters, so sit tight, and thanks for R&R-ing as always!_


	8. Chapter 7

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: I'll trade ya one ancient laptop for the rights to Gossip Girl!

**xoxo**

A couple of hours later, as he sat in the white wicker chair situated near the bed, Chuck put Blair's copy of the Times down on the carpet, and let his eyes drift up and down Blair's sleeping form. She was beautiful, an illustration from the _Briar Rose _fairytale, despite her tangled tresses and flushed cheeks. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, and in the complete silence of the penthouse, Chuck could hear the even tide of air passing quietly through them.

It comforted him. Chuck didn't quite know what was going through his ex-wife's head, why it was so easy for her internal demon to threaten the cushy life she had created for herself. Really, Chuck couldn't even _pretend_ to know, but there, there in that exact moment of perfect tranquility, he felt normal.

As Chuck watched her, Blair stirred in her bed, causing half of the comforter to slide over the mattress' edge. Involuntarily, she shuddered, her skin prickling against the cold air, and Chuck knitted his brows together observantly. He stood up and strode purposefully across the room, jaw clenching in concern upon observing the faint, glistening beads of sweat that had gathered on Blair's forehead.

Chuck grabbed the fallen portion of the comforter in both hands and purposefully draped it over Blair, taking care to cover every bare inch of skin below her neck. Strands of sinfully dark hair were matted to his ex-wife's forehead, and, after lightly brushing them away, Chuck grew anxious with worry; Blair's skin was on fire, scorching to the touch.

Chuck dragged a hand through his hair. "Great," he muttered. He was certain that coming down with the flu was _not_ in Blair's itinerary, especially with the current circumstances looming over her like a black raincloud.

Pulling out his iPhone, Chuck started scrolling through his contacts. His only option was to take action and control the situation like the chief executive officer that he was, and the first order of business was to call Cyrus.

"Hello?" Cyrus answered, his voice breaking with a combination of grief and exhaustion.

"Hello, Cyrus," Chuck responded. "I must say, I wish I was talking to you under better circumstances."

Cyrus cleared his throat and sniffled. "Me too, Chuck. Me too."

"I'm really, truly sorry about your loss. And while I want you to know that I'm willing to help out in any way that I can, there's another reason for why I'm calling."

"Oh. Right then. What's the matter?"

Chuck paused. "Well, I… Look, I know you're going to want to begin planning the funeral process as soon as you can, but I just want…"

"Want what, Chuck?" Cyrus asked, an uncharacteristic tone of annoyance tingeing his voice. Chuck attributed it to the stress of the previous night's events.

"You have to consult Blair before you do anything. You _have _to. You know that if she doesn't have a say in this, her reaction won't be pretty."

Cyrus sighed, the weariness returning to his words. "Oh, Chuck, of course I will. I was actually going to come up to the penthouse this afternoon to speak with her."

Though Cyrus couldn't see, Chuck grimaced. "That's the thing, Cyrus. I think she's coming down with something. I don't know what, but I assume she'll be out of commission for the rest of the day. I'd appreciate it if you could wait until tomorrow to discuss… the matter. Hopefully by then she'll have slept off whatever's wrong with her."

"Oh," Cyrus replied. "Okay, then. Tomorrow. "

"Alright, Cyrus. Thank you. I'll let you get back to your business now," Chuck said, preparing to hit the "end call" button.

Cyrus' voice shouted through the receiver, "Wait, Chuck!"

Startled, Chuck only managed a sharp "what?"

"Please take care of her. Of Blair, I mean. I've got too much to do around this place today to make her Jewish penicillin but I hear the chicken dumpling from Soup Kitchen is just wonderful."

Chuck smiled weakly, amazed at how fatherly Cyrus was even in his grief. "Don't worry about a thing. Blair will be fine."

After ending the conversation, Chuck sent a message to Dorota directing her to drop Nicholas off at the penthouse after school. He wasn't about to leave Blair, not in the state she was in, but he desperately wanted to see his son. Chuck figured that now was as good a time as any to take advantage of the situation, especially seeing as how Blair would _have_ to accept his help if she was ill. With the text message sent, Chuck suddenly felt idle. Blair was sleeping, the most important call was made, and he had already told his secretary to forget about him coming to the office.

He laced his fingers together behind his back, pacing around the room, the feeling of ennui overwhelming. Chuck allowed himself a lingering glance at a still-sleeping Blair before his eyes darted elsewhere, and upon spotting a number of DVDs lined carefully along the bottom shelf of Blair's walnut bookcase, Chuck found a solution for his boredom: _The Third Man_.

Plucking the DVD from its place on the shelf, Chuck couldn't help but smirk. He remembered that Blair had bought the film especially for him two months after they moved in together, because Chuck had likened the amount of Audrey Hepburn movies in the apartment to a rat infestation (what could he say? Chuck was more of a _noir_ type of guy).

Chuck turned on the flat-screen plasma that was mounted to the wall and put the disc inside of the DVD player. After pulling the wicker chair closer to Blair's bedside, Chuck settled himself in the seat and started the movie.

_Nothing like a black and white flick on a rainy day_, he thought absentmindedly as he kicked his shoes off.

Suddenly, Blair emitted a pained groan in her sleep and turned on her side, prompting Chuck to reach over and graze his hand across her cheek. "Rest, my love," he mumbled. A soft nasal sigh was Blair's unconscious response, and Chuck was satisfied enough to turn his attentions back to the film.

"_What did you want me to do? Be reasonable. You didn't expect me to give myself up... 'It's a far, far better thing that I do.' The old limelight. The fall of the curtain. Oh, Holly, you and I aren't heroes. The world doesn't make any heroes outside of your stories."_

"Ain't that the truth," Chuck muttered, suddenly finding a new-found respect for ol' Harry Lime. True, Chuck figured, he and Blair could continue to pretend like they were the poster children of how divorced parents should behave. They could keep acting like they were selfless martyrs of a doomed marriage, like their feelings meant nothing, but they'd be lying about who they really were.

A bright stroke of lightning flashed outside, and Chuck was stirred out of his thoughts. Glancing towards the window, he noticed how dark the sky was, even though it was barely past noon. It was the perfect day for brooding, and normally, brooding was what Chuck did best, but when a loud clap of thunder startled Blair out of her slumber, only to result in her reaching out for the garbage can, Chuck knew today wasn't about him.

Chuck handed Blair the little bedroom garbage can without word, looking on as Blair grasped it at neck level, her eyes shut tightly as she tried to control her breathing. The wave of nausea appeared to pass and Blair set the garbage can beside her on the bed. "I think I'm dying, Chuck," she groaned weakly before putting a hand to her forehead and falling back against her fluffy pillows. "God, talk about tact."

"Blame it on delirium, Waldorf. I won't tell." Chuck put a wide hand against Blair's forehead and pursed his lips. She felt even hotter to the touch than before, if that was possible. "Lucky for you, I just so happen to have the entire day off and am quite skilled in the art of nursing, so if you need anything at all, I'm at your service," he smirked, trying to add humor to the unfortunate situation.

Blair crinkled her nose. "The thought of you in a nurse's uniform is making me feel nauseous again," she retorted, though her delivery was weak and hoarse.

Chuck reached for the television remote, shutting the TV off. "And we both already know what happens when I see _you _in one," he said with a suggestive raise of the eyebrow.

Shivering, Blair pulled the blanket all the way up to her chin again. "Ugh," she responded harshly before wincing. With a strained voice, Blair added, "I think Fiji is calling my name, Bass, if you wouldn't mind. And maybe a Ricola or ten."

Chuck nodded. "Be right back. Don't start running any marathons while I'm gone."

Blair narrowed her eyes severely in response. Sure, her voice was failing her at the moment, but if there was one thing Blair was good at, it was delivering withering glances. She watched curiously as Chuck left the bedroom obediently and half-wondered if Chuck had come down with something as well.

When Chuck returned, Blair was leaning against her bookshelf with a hand to her head. She was breathing slowly, deliberately, and the back of her silk nightgown was wet with perspiration. "Blair, what the hell are you doing?" Chuck asked, setting the cough drops and Fiji bottle on Blair's nightstand.

"Tiffany's." Blair raised the book in the air to show Chuck. "I'm fine. I'm just dizzy, that's all."

Chuck shook his head reproachfully. "You should have waited to ask me. I told you that's what I'm here for." He walked over to her, taking the book out of Blair's hand before slipping an arm around her waist to help her back to bed. "Maybe we should call Dr. Sharma. Now really isn't the time for you to be getting sick."

After opening her bottle of water and drinking for some seconds, Blair replied, "I'm sure it's just the twenty four hour flu."

Chuck crossed his arms. "You'd better hope so. I talked to Cyrus this morning and – "

"You what?" Blair asked suspiciously, her voice cracking. She reached for a cough drop and tongued it in her mouth, the little square of menthol soothing her sore throat.

"I talked to Cyrus," Chuck repeated, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "He agreed to wait until tomorrow to discuss funeral plans with you."

Blair was silent. She closed her eyes and pulled the covers back over her, turning on her side.

Chuck furrowed his brow. Tentatively, he rested his hand upon Blair's leg. "Blair?"

A groan of discomfort sounded from her lips. "I feel sick."

"I know you do, but come on, Blair, I know you heard me." Chuck looked at Blair reprovingly, as if he'd caught her in a lie.

Blair sniffled and reached for a Kleenex. "Right. You have a very eloquent speaking voice," she said sarcastically as she discarded the tissue and threw the comforter over her head.

Bracing himself on the bed, Chuck knelt over Blair and yanked the comforter away from her head. He leaned down close to her ear and whispered, "You can't detach yourself from the situation, Blair. Eleanor was your _mother_. I guarantee if you pretend like you don't care, like you don't want to give her the very best remembrance you possibly can, that you will regret it. More than anything, probably."

Blair let herself fall on her back, tiny beneath Chuck's form. Her eyes sparkled with unfallen tears, and Blair squeezed them shut, prompting two wet drops to spill down her cheeks. "Of _course_ I care," she said hoarsely, "but can't I just pretend I don't for a little bit?"

Still kneeling over her, Chuck studied Blair's face carefully. He felt a pang in his heart because the hurt in Blair's eyes was palpable. Slowly, carefully, he raised his right hand and let it hover over her flushed cheek. It shook. _He _shook. When Chuck placed his hand upon her burning skin, Blair let herself turn into his touch, her eyes closing with weary satisfaction. Bending down to kiss her softly on the forehead, Chuck sighed against her skin, "Yes. We can… pretend."

Blair trailed her fingers up Chuck's arm slowly. Her stomach, albeit nauseous, fluttered with a familiar feeling as she smiled at Chuck weakly. "Are you flu-vaccinated?"

Without responding, Chuck shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the floor. Loosening his tie, he moved to the left of Blair and pulled some of the covers over him. "Yes, but I wouldn't care if I wasn't," he breathed as he reached his arm over Blair's waist and pulled her close to him. "God, Blair, I've waited so long to hold you again."

Blair coughed harshly before turning to look at Chuck. "Not like this, I bet," she said with a feeble grin.

Chuck pressed his head against Blair's temple and ran a hand up and down Blair's hot skin. "It's good enough for me." He could feel her shiver beneath his touch, and wondered if it was because of her illness or because of his fingers.

Blair sighed contently and closed her eyes again, relishing in the moment. Letting her hand fall against Chuck's chest, she could feel his heart beat rapidly with yearning. "Me too."

When Blair fell into a slumber for the second time, Chuck was falling right along with her.

**xoxo**

_AN: Sorry it took so long to update! I've been super busy and not so inspired, so the combo makes for deadly procrastination habits. __The quote by Harry Lime is from _The Third Man (1949)_. Great flick if you're into film noir.____Anyways, _I'm really pleased with this chapter, like REALLY pleased, so I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. Thanks for all the reviews from the previous chapters; they helped me keep going! _  
_


	9. Chapter 8

**Every Other Sunday**

Disclaimer: I own the deadly habit of procrastination, but certainly not Gossip Girl.

**xoxo**

Chuck cracked an eye open and checked his watch. It was only slightly past one, which meant that Nicholas wouldn't be home for another hour. Dipping his head back into Blair's dense curls, Chuck inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of her shampoo intoxicating him like fine scotch. Blair, nestled perfectly against Chuck's chest, was breathing quietly and evenly, and Chuck was thankful that, in her slumber, she was protected from her earthly concerns. Sighing contentedly, Chuck, with a gentle finger, traced the caramel-colored birthmark square in the middle of Blair's back.

He eyed the mark wistfully, recalling how many married nights he spent planting small kisses there. Blair would always ask why he liked that spot so much, and Chuck would answer with the same response: "Because it's mine." He wasn't exaggerating, because the mark was curiously shaped in a crescent, reminiscent of his first initial. It only made sense that it was a part of Blair.

Enjoying the moment, Chuck closed his eyes and draped his arm over his ex-wife, his hand rubbing up and down Blair's belly in a calming manner. The boniness of her frame was alarming to him; Chuck knew she wasn't taking care of herself. He –

"Chuck?" Blair's voice called his name, unnerving Chuck as only she could do.

"Yes, Blair?"

Blair rolled on her left side to face him and tried to hide the grimace on her face that came courtesy of her nausea. "Thank you."

"For what?" Chuck asked as he put a hand against Blair's burning hot forehead. When she raised a curious eyebrow, he explained, "I'm a father. I know these things, too."

Smiling weakly, Blair sat up and rested her back against the headboard. "Nevermind." With her left hand, she brushed Chuck's hair away from his forehead. "Chuck, do you remember way back when we were sophomores in high school and I harassed you about your little boy hair?"

"How could I forget?" Chuck smirked, sitting up alongside her. "I'd say something witty, but you know, Blair, you could roll out of bed without running a brush through your hair and you would _still_ look ravishing."

"Doubtful." Blair closed her eyes and clutched her stomach. "Things were so simple back then. So easy."

"Hey," Chuck said forcefully, "you don't have to go through this alone, Blair. You _know _that. Serena's here for you, Dorota's here for you, and they're going to be at your side as long as you let them." Setting a wide hand behind Blair's head, Chuck guided it towards his shoulder. "And as for me, I'm not leaving even if you want me to."

A heart-wrenching sob was the next audible sound, and Chuck suddenly wonders if he overstepped his boundaries. He _thought_ he had said the right thing, but then again, it was only months ago that his actions cost him a marriage. "Blair…" Chuck murmured, stroking his ex-wife's curls attentively. Blair fisted the delicate fabric of Chuck's Lanvin dress shirt as she cried. It was muted, and if it weren't for the shaking of Blair's shoulders, Chuck wouldn't even know that she was breathing.

They stayed like that for seconds, minutes even - Blair crying and Chuck consoling. He hadn't felt this needed by her in a long time.

Suddenly, Chuck's cell phone started ringing, and just like that, Blair's crying stopped. She raised her head and turned away from Chuck, wiping her eyes hastily. "Go ahead, Chuck. Answer it," Blair said, her voice regal and controlled. "I'm fine. Absolutely fine." To prove her point, she threw the covers off of her and stood up on shaky legs, making her way towards the bedroom door.

"Blair, stop it," Chuck commanded as he turned his phone off. "I'm not talking to anyone, see?" He tossed the phone on the ground and it landed at Blair's feet.

Freezing in her tracks, Blair asked, "Why did you do that?" Her face was directed towards the door, and so Chuck wasn't able to tell if she was mad or relieved.

"Look at me, Blair," he urged.

"Why did you do that? Why did you turn off your phone off?" Blair asked again, this time more forcefully.

Chuck sighed. "Because I already _told_ you, Blair. Today isn't about me. It's about _you_. Would you just look at me?"

Obliging reluctantly, Blair spun around on her heels and gave him a scornful look. "So you decided to care about me only when I'm sick and relapsing and in mourning? What is it that you _really _want, Chuck, because the only time you've _ever_ shut your phone off was when we had sex in Yale's graduate library!" she shouted hoarsely.

Chuck's eyes bulged as he observed the furious brunette in front of him. "Are you serious, Blair? Just twenty minutes ago you were thanking me for being here and now you doubt my intentions? What do you want me to do? Let the ailing mother of my child go off the deep end because she refuses to let anyone help her?" By the end of his statement, Chuck was on his feet, nostrils flaring.

"I don't know what I want, Chuck. I just don't know," Blair faltered, her quivery legs taking her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, Blair reached in and retrieved a carton of orange juice. Her expression was neutral and controlled as she shook the carton and turned towards the cabinet to get a glass.

Coming up from behind, Chuck grabbed a glass from the open cabinet first, and offered it to Blair. "Here."

Blair eyed him dully. "How chivalrous," she commented as she took the glass and filled it half-way with pulp-free orange juice. She took her glass to the kitchen table and started thumbing through the French Vogue that she'd already damn-near memorized already.

Grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, Chuck made his way towards the table and pulled out a chair, smirking at the irritated expression on Blair's face as the chair scraped against the floor. He took a large bite out of the red-skinned fruit and crunched it in his mouth loudly.

Watching Chuck over the rim of her glass, Blair took a long drink of orange juice. Chuck's passive aggressive antics vexing her, she slammed the glass down on the table. "You have _got _to be the most irritating person in the world."

Chuck shrugged nonchalantly. "In that case, you have the honor of having _married _the most irritating person in the world. How do you feel about that?"

"I feel like I'm going to regurgitate this orange juice all over you," Blair mumbled, dropping her head in her hand and pushing the glass away from her with a groan.

Clearing his throat, Chuck slid the orange juice back towards Blair. "You have to try to finish it. You're dehydrated."

Blair lifted her head and threw Chuck a disdainful glare. "I _can't_, Chuck. I'm _sick_. I highly doubt you'd enjoy cleaning my vomit off of this lovely white table."

"Quit being a drama queen, Blair. You were _more _than willing to down a bottle of water before you fell asleep. I'm not about to make a hospital trip just because you want to give me a hard time," Chuck said matter-of-factly.

Her eyes were shooting daggers, but Blair complied grudgingly, finishing the juice in a few big gulps. "There. Happy?" she growled, gesturing to the empty glass.

"Very," Chuck responded with a satisfied smirk.

Moments passed as Chuck and Blair sat in silence. He watched his ex-wife, beautiful as ever even though she was sick, and Chuck felt a sharp pang in his heart. Maybe it was the way her hair fell around her face, or the constant Waldorf pride emanating from her eyes, but all Chuck knew was that he was still in love.

"Blair," Chuck said suddenly. "in the bedroom back there, you said you didn't know what you want. Well, I know what _I _want, so tell me this - do you... miss me?"

Blair's eyes darted towards him, unnerved. Closing her magazine, she knit her brows together. "What gave you that idea?"

A fluttering in his stomach caused Chuck's palms to start sweating, the idea of backpedaling not looking so bad. "Forget it. I was stupid for asking."

"You were." Blair crossed her arms and dropped her gaze, seemingly indicating that the subject was to be abandoned.

Standing up, Chuck took Blair's glass from the table and brought it to the kitchen sink without a word. He felt like a complete idiot. Gripping the granite edges of the counter-top tightly, Chuck suddenly felt like an interloper in Blair's world. He was contemplating leaving in order to save any face he had left, when Blair abruptly broke the silence.

"I think of you all the time, Chuck. Even when I'm sleeping."

Chuck was dumbfounded. "You do?" he asked. His voice was barely a whisper.

Looking up slowly, Blair's expression conveyed a multitude of emotions. "We've been to hell and back together. We have a son together. How could I not miss you?"

"Then why are we apart, Blair? Why are we denying the inevitable?" Chuck fought the urge to shout, keeping his voice at an even level.

Blair closed her eyes and smiled wistfully. "I wish I had the same confidence in us as you do. There's nothing I'd like more than to work things out, but it's just not that cut and dry, Chuck, despite what you believe."

"Yes it is!" Chuck slammed his fist on the counter, causing Blair's eyes to widen at his conviction. Racing to Blair's side, Chuck knelt on the tile floor and took her hand. "Listen to me, Blair. I've _grown_. Being apart from Nicholas and you – it's been the hardest months of my life. Harder than losing my father. All I want to do is take care of my family, Blair, so _let me_. I'll do _anything_. I'll step down as CEO, I'll -"

Blair ran her fingers through Chuck's hair tenderly. "Chuck, don't be silly. I – "

"You what?" Chuck asked sharply, recoiling from his ex-wife's touch. "You only want to see me every other Sunday, right? Keep the situation as is? Fine then, because –"

"If you would have let me _finish_, Chuck, I was going to say that I – I want you to stay here for the time being," Blair answered calmly, before adding sharply, "_Not_ because we're going to get back together right now or anything. I just think it would be good for Nick in this situation. You and I… we can take things one step at a time, okay?"

Gripping the table, Chuck braced himself as he stood up. He couldn't help but smile widely. Everything was falling back into its rightly place. "Whatever you want," Chuck said eagerly, reaching for Blair's hand to help her out of her seat.

Smirking shyly, Blair accepted her Chuck's warm, familiar hand. As soon as they touched, Chuck felt waves of hot electricity coursing through his veins and, staring into Blair's eyes, he couldn't help himself.

Flu or no flu, he had to kiss her. He had to _feel_ her.

Chuck cupped the feverish skin of her cheek and weaved his other hand through her tangled curls. Resting his forehead upon Blair's, heat radiating from her skin, Chuck relished the moment.

"Chuck," Blair murmured, her initial reluctance tapering into mild uncertainty as she slowly placed her hand atop Chuck's and laced her fingers with his.

All of a sudden, a key could be heard turning into the lock of the front door. "Miss Blair!" Dorota exclaimed, surprised at the sight that greeted her as she entered the penthouse with Nicholas at her side.

Blair and Chuck both jerked back from one another upon hearing the maid's voice. "Dorota, I…" Blair trailed off as twinkly-eyed Dorota gave her a knowing smile.

"Thank you for picking up Nick from school, Dorota," Chuck interjected, much to Blair's relief. "Go home to your family. I'm sure your kids miss you."

Nodding, Dorota said, "Okay. Bye Miss Blair, Mister Chuck. And Mister Nick, of course."

"Bye, Dorota!" Nick waved goodbye as Dorota left. Turning to his parents with a confused expression on his little face, Nick asked curiously, "Why are _you_ here, Dad? Are you off work?"

"Hey, buddy." Chuck crossed the room and gave his son a hug before pulling back and holding up his hand for a high-five. As Nick slapped Chuck's hand with as much as strength as his six-year-old self could muster, Chuck explained, "Actually, mom's not feeling so hot so I'm staying here to help out for a while - if that's okay with you, of course."

Nick's blue eyes widened with excitement. "You're _living_ with us again!" he exclaimed gleefully.

"That's the plan," Chuck answered with a grin, helping his son shrug off his red backpack.

Blair crossed her arms, admiring the interaction between father and son. "So, Nick, honey, that means you can't try to sweet-talk your mother into not cleaning your room," she called out, her lips tugging upwards into a faint smile as she withdrew to the bedroom to put on a robe.

"Dad, you won't make me, right?" Nick whispered fearfully once Blair was out of earshot.

Chuck laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry, Nick, but you're out of luck. Your mom rules over me with an iron fist." Grabbing his son's backpack, he started walking towards Nick's bedroom. "Let's get your homework started so mom can rest, alright?"

Nick groaned, dragging his feet behind Chuck. "But I _hate _spelling."

"Tough," Chuck said, leaning down and turning on the Yankees lamp on Nick's desk. "Take a seat, son. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can play your Playstation."

"Wii!" Nick corrected his dad as he plopped down into the chair and pulled out a big sheet of spelling paper and a graded test.

"Ah, _Wii_, that's right." Peering over his son's shoulder, Chuck examines the test and frowns. "Sixty percent on your spelling test, Nick? What happened?"

Nick started fumbling with his mechanical pencil nervously. "I don't know," he mumbled.

Chuck sighed as he sat down on Nick's bed. "If you didn't understand something, you should have asked your teacher. You know that."

"Yeah, well Ms. Roisin is mean so I don't care!" Nick pouted, slamming his pencil down on the desk.

A new voice joined the conversation. "What's going on here, you two?" Blair asked, leaning against the door frame, her robe wrapped tightly across her petite form.

Looking up, Chuck gave Blair a grave look. "Nick says Ms. Roisin is _mean_."

"She _is_, mom!" Nick protested, tugging at his curly hair. "She gives us hard words to spell!"

Blair's eyes, sparkling, drifted from father to son as she responded, "Oh, really? Well, what should we do about that? Maybe study more, perhaps?"

Nick, excited, knelt in his seat and started gesturing wildly. "My friend in – in second grade, he told me his big brother put, um, one of those pointy things on his teacher's chair and she sat on it and – "

"Nicholas Damon, put that idea out of your head or else Ms. Roisin is _really_ going to have it out for you," Blair scolded him.

"It's true," Chuck added, glancing at Blair out of the corner of his eye. "I've pulled tons of pranks and I'll tell you something, son, most of them have had some pretty bad consequences."

Blair, suddenly turning green, put a hand over her mouth and lowered her head. Chuck got up from his seated position and rushed to Blair's side. "You need to take it easy, Blair. Rest, watch _Sabrina_, sleep – I don't care."

"Are you sure?" Blair raised her head weakly to look at her son, who was starting to write lines of the spelling words he missed on the test.

Leaning close to her, Chuck breathed in her ear playfully, "I think my lexicon's a little more diverse than first-grade vocabulary."

"Alright," Blair acquiesced, "I have to start working on some sketches, anyways, and Cyrus is going to want to know what I want to do, and – oh god, Chuck, come here." She grabbed Chuck's upper arm and started dragging him out of the bedroom.

Just outside Nick's door, Blair got up in her tip-toes to whisper lowly, "Chuck, how are we going to tell Nick about – about... I can't. I can't say it."

Chuck took Blair's hand in his own and squeezed it gently. "I can take care of it if you want, Blair. Now isn't the time for you to overexert yourself."

Blair shook her head defiantly. "I want to be a part of him understanding the world. I want to show him how things work. I want to teach him and help him learn. As hard as it's going to be, we have to do it together, okay?"

"Whatever you want," Chuck said solemnly. "After dinner?"

Nodding, Blair slipped her hand out of Chuck's and grazed it down his shirt. "I really want to be alone for a little while, Chuck. You and Nick should spend some time together."

Wanting Blair to take all the time she needed to heal (in multiple ways), Chuck was more than willing to agree to Blair's request. "Perfect idea," he murmured. "but Blair? I don't want to see you working right now. Keep your sketchbooks in your office where they belong."

Smirking, Blair turned on her heels and started padding down the hallway to her bedroom. "I never thought I'd see the day…" she marveled under her breath.

As soon as Blair disappeared into her room, Chuck went to check on Nick. The messy-haired child was scribbling furiously on his spelling paper, and for a second, Chuck thought that his kid was actually doing homework. Once Chuck neared his son, however, he realized that the so-called furious scribbles were actually crude drawings. "I somehow doubt your assignment was to draw… Who exactly is that?" he questioned, a little amused, because as a child himself, Chuck had never bothered to take his homework seriously.

"Mac Robertson," Nick commented matter-of-factly. "He's on the Yankees, dad. _Duh_." Quirking an eyebrow, Chuck reaches down and grabs the paper from under his son's elbows. "Hey! I wasn't done!"

"Change the attitude," Chuck admonished as he examined Nick's picture. "Not bad, son, but you know what would be even better? You finishing this homework. Erase this picture and let's get going."

Forty minutes, thirty lines, and five tantrums later, Nick's homework was finished, and Chuck was as red as a tomato. "That was _easy_!" Nick smiled, pride springing from his ice blue eyes. "Want to try to beat me at Wii golf? I played Tom Archibald and I was _way_ better. He was so bad, dad, you should have seen him. I make fun of him for it all the time at school."

"Way to go, buddy, show him what a Bass man is capable of," Chuck praised Nick, clapping a hand over his son's shoulder. "Don't tell your mom I said that," he added.

Turning on the Wii console, Nick handed Chuck a controller and grabbed one for himself. Chuck's heart swelled as Nick started rattling off the rules of the game, short curls bouncing wildly as the little boy jumped around eagerly. Chuck couldn't believe it, he really couldn't; he, Chuck Bass, was actually spending time with his family instead of being cooped up in his office. It was a indescribable feeling, and Chuck didn't want it to ever go away.

Maybe he really _was_ changing.

**xoxo**

_AN: I don't even know if I have any readers of this left, but it's a little longer than normal to make up for the wait. It just got difficult to write this as Chuck became increasingly loco on the show. Anyways, I'm pretty satisfied with this, so I hope you are all too. It's weird getting back into the CB dynamic since I've been doing some DB stuff, but hey, it's like riding a bike, ya dig? Let me know how many of you are still reading this, though, so I have a feel for how quick (or how slowly) I should wrap up the story._


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